


Out of Darkness

by MildeAmasoj



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Het, Magic Revealed, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Pre-Het, Pre-Relationship, Redemption, There's A Tag For That, Trapped, Violence, Website: Heart of Camelot, actually pre-Mergana, from 4x13 onwards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 06:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3600261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildeAmasoj/pseuds/MildeAmasoj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin was caught by the Sarrum and thrown in the same well where Morgana had been for the past three months. Two months later, Morgana wonders how she can at the same time hate a man <i>so much</i>, but still trust him so blindly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Category:** Gen/Pre-Het (Canon AU)  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Merlin, Morgana, Aithusa, eventual Merlin/Morgana  
>  **Rating/Warnings:** T for torture and violence  
>  **Summary:** Merlin was caught by the Sarrum and thrown in the same well where Morgana had been for the past three months. Two months later, Morgana wonders how she can at the same time hate a man so much, but still trust him so blindly.
> 
> This was written for The Chronicles of Camelot challenge.
> 
> Set after season 4, about six months after "The Sword in the Stone, Part 2". My headcanon is that Morgana was captured by the Sarrum not long after Aithusa saved her. When Merlin disguised as Emrys blocked her magic, it stayed locked for some time and that made Morgana vulnerable. So she was captured. (This was included in the first version of this story, which is lost forever due to stupid technology. We'll have to make do with my hurried explanations.)
> 
> The events that led to Merlin being imprisoned will be explained. With time. The first part of this story is in 'layers': each chapter will unravel a part of the past. Then we'll go back to the present towards the end of the story. It's much easier than what it might seem, really.
> 
> Important: the prologue is set in the 'present', the first chapters after it are set two months earlier, then at a point the story will be set in the present again. Just to make things clear:
> 
>  **Prologue:** Morgana has been in the well for five months. Merlin for two.  
>  **Chapter 1:** Morgana has been in the well for three months. Merlin has just arrived.
> 
> What Morgana knows in the present (prologue) she didn't necessarily know before (chapter 1).
> 
> Thanks to MagicGirl41 for looking this over for me. Any mistakes left are entirely my fault.

 

                                                                 

 

* * *

_So, yes, I know that love is unconditional. But I also know that it can also be unpredictable, unexpected, uncontrollable, unbearable and, well, strangely easy to mistaken for loathing._  
  
_–Yvaine, Stardust_

  


* * *

  
  
The pitch-black darkness was suffocating.  
  
Morgana knew, even if she couldn't see anything, that the space she was in was far too small to move. Especially since she wasn't the only occupant of the 'prison' — if the bottom of a dried well could even be called that way.  
  
Her shoulders had gone numb, having had her arms tied over her head for so long, and her wrists hurt where the shackles had dug into the flesh as she struggled, to no avail, to get free. She had been there for what she guessed were more or less five months.  
  
The young witch sighed and shifted to make herself as comfortable as possible. Moving, she hit something — or better, _someone_ — warm. It was Aithusa, who laid beside her sleeping, restrained just as barbarously as she was.  
  
Morgana felt her heart swell with love — something she had once believed she would never feel again — at the thought of her little dragon, the beautiful and pure creature who, for a long time, had been her only friend, her beacon of light in those dark times. Now, she could no longer imagine a life without it — _her_ , the sorceress reminded herself. Aithusa was a female, as she had found out recently, thanks to Merlin.  
  
_Merlin_. Arthur's loyal servant. The bubbly boy, now a battle-hardened man, who used to bring her flowers to make her smile and had kept her secret so many years ago. The very same man who had poisoned her, _betrayed her_ , even when she regarded him as a _friend_ — and currently, her only companion besides Aithusa.  
  
The high priestess could hear the sound of his soft, rhythmical breathing as he slept. He was tired, even more than she was. And not unjustifiably so — the poor man had, after all, been tortured for hours to protect _her_ just two days before.  
  
Morgana wanted to laugh at the thought of their current predicament. If someone had told her that she would one day be trapped with Merlin, of all people, and forced to get along with him, only a few months before she would have laughed at them. But had they told her that in the future she would have also been willing to offer her life for his — and that he would have sacrificed his to save hers — she would have probably incinerated them on spot.  
  
And yet, that was the reality, as ridiculous as it sounded.  
  
They had formed a friendship of sorts, actually, the kind that is born due to necessity and instinct of survival more than real affection — that had later blossomed into an unlikely camaraderie. Merlin had been there for almost two months, and with time she had grown to be grateful of his presence.  
  
It also helped that they were kin. Both creatures of the Old Religion, they shared the heavy and precious burden of magic. Of course, at first it had hurt — finding out that Merlin had been born with magic and hadn't told her _anything_ when he needed him the most — but, with time, she had understood his reasoning to keep his own secret, even though she didn't agree with his choice.  
  
Had he told her before about his magic, would things have been different? If so, would they have been better? It wasn't such a crazy hypothesis, was it? She could have been happy.  
  
_No, stop it_ , Morgana chastised herself. _There's no point in crying over spilled milk._  
  
She had other things to think about, more important things, like a plan to escape. They couldn't use their magic, the Sarrum had made sure of that, having put anti-magic manacles around their wrists. _Cold iron_ , Merlin had said. Apparently, Gaius had taught him about that particular metal and its abilities to keep a magic user from using their powers.  
  
And yet, Merlin had managed to do it. He had lit a small flame, less than a week ago, to give her some hope — she would never admit it to him, but it had worked wonders. Using magic had hurt him, tremendously so for such a simple spell, but he had done it. Meaning that he truly was powerful, even more than she was — but that wasn't a surprise by then.  
  
The woman knew that her _friend_ (that was what they were now, wasn't it?) was _Emrys_ , the sorcerer she had hunted for since the Cailleach had told her his name and his role in her destiny. Oh, the anger she had felt when she had found out. He had told her himself, before the first week of his imprisonment had ended. She would have found it strange — his sudden willingness to reveal his secrets — had she not known that he had already lost too much to care anymore.  
  
After that, he had also confessed that he had used a spell to block her magic when she had taken over Camelot, and that had been the ultimate cause of her abduction by the Sarrum.  
  
Morgana wondered how she could at the same time hate a man _so much_ , but still trust him so blindly. And care about him.  
  
She would have snorted loudly, had she not known that it would have awakened Merlin and Aithusa. Oh, _the irony_. Morgana Pendragon caring about Emrys's sleeping habits. She almost didn't believe it.  
  
The witch moved again to ease the strain on her sore muscles, and doing so, accidentally brushed her now-short hair with her arm. _They_ had cut it to sell it, and she couldn't help but be grateful that those monsters hadn't done anything worse — not for lack of trying, though. Again, she had to remind herself to thank Merlin for it when he felt better.  
  
Morgana let out a long, tired sigh as she thought about the last months. The situation had certainly changed her deeply. Her beliefs had been shaken to the core, and the fortress of hatred and bitterness she had built to shield her heart in the past years had slowly crumbled to dust, leaving her defenceless against emotions and feelings she had long since forgotten.  
  
Slowly, a small smile crept up on her face as she realised that maybe, just maybe, changing wasn't necessarily for the worst.  
  
---  
  
 


	2. Chapter 1

  
Tap.  
  
_Two thousand, five hundred and eleven..._  
  
Tap.  
  
_Two thousand, five hundred and twelve..._  
  
Tap, tap, tap.  
  
_Two thousand, five hundred and thirteen; two thousand, five hundred and fourteen; two thousand, five hundred and fifteen..._  
  
Morgana's foot kept thumping on the ground. It was a habit she had picked recently, trying to make as much noise as she could so that the silence wouldn't drive her mad. Three months in a dark pit, completely cut out from the rest of the world, were bound to be unhealthy.  
  
The dragon didn't seem to mind the noise. It snuggled closer to her, as far as the chains would allow, and rested its head on her lap, seeking the warmth her body provided.  
  
The witch wasn't sure if what she dreaded most were the times she was tortured, or moments like this — a pretence of tranquility, the calm before the storm. They subconsciously made her feel safe, only for her hopes to be crushed as soon as one of the Sarrum's thugs appeared to take her out.  
  
Morgana shook her head to keep herself from thinking about it. She still had a couple of days, maybe a whole week, before the next *unpleasant* interrogation came. Really, she should be thankful that she was left alone — as used as she was to torture, she still didn't look forward to it.  
  
The fact was, living at the bottom of a dried well was so incredibly, utterly _boring_ that she feared the day when she would beg the little dragon to kill her was nigh — she didn't like the idea of getting burnt to a crisp (being a magic user and all), but if it came to that she probably wouldn't mind. And it wouldn't be because she wanted to end her own suffering, but for a change in _routine_.  
  
Of course, boredom had never lasted too long in her life.  
  
The high priestess should have expected that just when her life was getting predictable — interrogation led to her not answering, which led to torture (and still not answering), until they tired of hearing her screams and dragged her back into her prison — _of course_ something unexpected would happen.  
  
Why she was surprised was a mystery. Nothing in her life had ever been linear, not even close, so why had she thought that this time might be different?  
  
Well, maybe something _was_ different. So her surprise was justified, in a way. It might probably have to do with the fact that the 'unexpected something' was not only unexpected, but it also shook her to the core and made her question everything she had thought and done until that moment.  
  
For how could she have known that the Sarrum would bring her a companion, of all things? And someone she once knew so well, at that. Someone she had once cared about — maybe even _loved_ , but that wasn't something she was ready to admit to herself yet — and would have given her life for.  
  
Morgana was still tapping her foot on the dirty ground when she heard the sound of hushed voices coming from the well's entrance. She froze in her place and looked up, unconsciously moving closer to her dragon.  
  
Two of the Sarrum's thugs came down with the help of a thick rope.  
  
The young witch was trembling — she wished she weren't, but it wasn't something she could really _help_ — but her fear was overcome by curiosity when she saw the unconscious form of a man thrown over the mercenary's shoulder.  
  
The rogue tied the other man to the wall with heavy manacles, of the same kind that Morgana's were. _A sorcerer, then_ , she realised. Whatever those cuffs were made of, they restrained her magic, and she doubted they were used on every captive.  
  
Morgana waited until the thug left before trying to get as close as she could to her fellow prisoner.  
  
His head hung over his chest, hiding his face from view, but she could see that he had thick, black hair and his tied hands were pale beneath the dirt and — was that _blood_? The poor man looked like he had travelled to hell and back, and Morgana was sure that he actually had, if he had been in the Sarrum's hands for more than a day.  
  
She tried to move further but it was no use. Slumping defeatedly on the wall behind her, she huffed out an annoyed sigh. It was then that she noticed that the dragon had reacted to the stranger's presence.  
  
The little white creature was doing its best to crawl over to the man, flailing and shuffling and whimpering mutely, and the utter despair in its clear blue eyes broke Morgana's heart. Did it know the man? Was he its owner?  
  
The high priestess tried to wake the man, hitting his leg with her foot. It didn't matter that he could be hurt and in pain as long as he awakened, because that would most likely make her dragon — and consequently herself — feel better.  
  
The man stirred in his unconscious state and shifted. He lifted his head slightly and tried vainly to move his hands. Morgana eagerly awaited the moment in which he would rise his head.  
  
But when he did, she realised that nothing could have prepared her for the onslaught of emotions that overcame her in the moment his tired eyes met hers and lit up with recognition. A soft gasp left his chapped lips. "Morgana?" he breathed, disbelief blossoming on his pale face.  
  
The witch almost choked on his name in her shock, but replied to him in kind, with a "Merlin?" just as feeble.  
  
As they scrutinised each other carefully, trying to understand what had just happened, Morgana couldn't help but wonder _how could it be_? How could _Merlin_ , of all people, have ended up there? And why? Was it a coincidence? Destiny, fate, or another otherworldly power that hated her with just as much fervour?  
  
She closed her eyes to calm her racing heart and focused on the matter at hand. If the Sarrum had gotten interested in Merlin, there had to be a motive, or else he would have just killed him off. If her reasoning was right, all the guesses led to one answer. But it couldn't be.  
  
_It can't be it can't be please let me be wrong it can't be no no no he wouldn't have lied to me he was my friend—_  
  
Morgana's heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest as her eyes snapped opened to find the servant's own staring back at her anxiously. She swallowed to soothe her parched throat, not wishing to speak in fear of being proved right, but knowing that she had to confirm her suspicions. "You have magic," she said, and although she meant to make it a question it came out more like a statement.  
  
_Please deny it don't say I'm right please please please I beg you—_  
  
It was barely a whisper that left her lips, but to Merlin, it seemed as if it were a horrid scream. His eyes widened to the point that the witch thought they would pop out of their sockets. His eyebrows drew into a frown, partly surprised and partly afraid, but soon his features relaxed into resignation. Merlin looked like he had nothing to lose anymore.  
  
_Well, neither have I,_ Morgana thought absentmindedly, too preoccupied with trying to keep at bay the oncoming panic attack.  
  
_Please—_  
  
The servant's lip curled in displeasure. He coughed to clear his voice and after a moment of hesitation, his expression morphed into one of apology and poorly hidden shame as he softly admitted "Yes, I do."  
  
_—No..._  
  
In the span of a heartbeat, what was left of Morgana's world collapsed around her.  
  
  
  
---


	3. Chapter 2

The witch's mouth opened, but no sound came out.  
  
The dragon had finally managed to reach Merlin and had snuggled close to him, falling asleep almost instantly. Weren't Morgana so distracted, she might have wondered why the creature would want to cuddle with mere servant. But now, she had other things to take care of.  
  
She took a deep breath in order to calm her racing heart and swallowed. "How long?" she asked, and the quiver in her voice didn't surprise her.  
  
Merlin diverted his eyes, biting his lip.  
  
"How. Long," the witch pressed, jaw hardening and nostrils flaring. After all that had happened, her patience was running out.  
  
The young man looked up but still didn't meet her eyes. "All my life," he whispered, perfectly aware of how much she would get angry at his words.  
  
The witch's shoulders shook with rage. Had she been free, she would have tried to throttle the man. However, restrained as she was, she could only lunge forward, straining against the manacles, mindless of the pain the movement caused. "Why!" she shrieked. "Why didn't you tell me? I was your _friend_!"  
  
Merlin felt vaguely nauseous when he heard Morgana's voice break on the last word and saw the wetness of her eyes. "I'm sorry. I am _so_ sorry, Morgana."  
  
The high priestess raised her knees to her face to hide her tears, and ground out through gritted teeth, "You can be sorry all you want, but what you did is unforgivable," at this her head snapped up. "I was scared, _terrified_ of my own powers, and I confided in you. You said you didn't know how to help when you could have just showed me! I understand if you don't trust me now — it's mutual, believe me — but at the time I would have laid my head on the chopping block for you!"  
  
Morgana's voice was raw after so much yelling, and she looked surprised after her last admission. True as it was, that was something she didn't wish to divulge. She swallowed and hugged her knees to her chest, in a blatant show of frailty she would have never allowed before her imprisonment.  
  
The young man sitting in front of her felt his heart break at the sight. Yes, Morgana had done many horrible acts, but so had he. If there was anyone who could understand her perfectly, it was him. And she was right; his behaviour towards her when she was in Camelot was unforgivable. Yet, he wanted her to know his motives. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "I truly am. If there is anything I regret with my whole being, it's lying to you that day. You're right, you didn't deserve it. But I was afraid, even more than you, because I _knew_ what it felt like — to live in fear for something I was born with. I didn't want you to experience it, so I foolishly tried to deny the undeniable. I told myself that maybe the strange phenomena that were happening around you weren't due to magic but to something else, something not as dangerous. I was afraid _for_ you, not of you. And then, when you sought my help, I was afraid for myself. You were Uther's ward; if you were found out, there was a chance he would have you spared. But what if I was? He would have gladly tied me to the stake and enjoyed my screams as I burned. I _know_ — believe me, I do — that what I did was wrong and cowardly, but you need to understand that I didn't do it to _hurt_ you. Why would I? You were my friend, too."  
  
Admitting it all to her had left him emotionally drained, and at first he hadn't even been sure it was the right course of action. Alas, he knew there was no avoiding the truth. There was something about Morgana that demanded honesty, and he suspected it was the knowledge that in her life she had already been told too many lies.  
  
The woman stared at him with narrowed eyes, as if she wanted to look through him and see if he was lying. A small smirk appeared on her emaciated face. "And you cared so much for me that you chose to poison me at the first chance you got."  
  
Merlin seemed horrified at her words, eyes widening and mouth hanging opened before he quickly sobered up. "I needed to eliminate the source of the spell," he explained, trying to keep up with the calm façade he had chosen to wear.  
  
"And what does this have to do with me?" she inquired, her eyebrow raised in such a Gaius-like manner that it made his heart ache with nostalgia.  
  
If there was anyone from Camelot the servant missed so much it physically hurt, it was his mentor, his father figure. Had he been more careful, he wouldn't have found himself in that situation. He hadn't even gotten the chance to say goodbye to the physician.  
  
He also missed his other friends; Gwen, Gwaine, the other knights, Sefa. And then, of course, there was Arthur.  
  
_Cerulean eyes flashed with hurt as his own widened in fear, but it lasted barely a moment before they filled with alarm. Merlin's world went black, the last sound he heard the echo of an anguished yell._  
  
The warlock shook his head. There was no use thinking about what had happened; he had to take care of other things that were far more important now. Like Morgana's confusion at his explanation. Could it be that she didn't know about the sleeping spell?  
  
" _You_ were the source of the enchantement," he said. At Morgana's confused frown, he swallowed the lump in his throat and, ignoring the guilt crawling at his heart, he continued, "Morgause put a spell on you and made you the vessel of the sleeping spell. Everyone near you would fall asleep and never wake as long as you were alive."  
  
The witch's face morphed into shock and then her eyes dropped down, her features twisting into agony. Merlin, for the first time in years, felt truly sorry for her. Even her sister had lied to her.  
  
Morgana stayed quite after that. Maybe, the warlock mused, for now it was for the best.  
  


* * *

  
Merlin had tried not to disturb his fellow prisoner, trying to occupy himself with something else — not that there was much to do there, but still, he had _tried_.  
  
As soon as Aithusa woke up, she shifted even closer to him, looking up at him with her big blue eyes. He smiled down at her and nuzzled her with his leg, prompting her to lay her head on his thigh.  
  
When Kilgharrah had lost sight of the young dragon, Merlin had feared the worst. He had lost all hopes of ever seeing Aithusa again but, much to his delight, he had obviously been wrong.  
  
He decide it was time to break the silence. "Where did you find her?" he asked to Morgana.  
  
The high priestess raised her head at his voice. "Who, the dragon? Actually, it found me. It's been a loyal companion in the last months. I owe it my life," she explained, looking with fond eyes at the white beast.  
  
Merlin smiled. Aithusa had managed to break through the block of ice that was Morgana's heart. "It's a female. Her name is Aithusa, it means 'light of the sun' in the language of dragons," he revealed, not thinking about it twice. It still surprised him how easily it was talking to Morgana. It felt as though they were still in Camelot, talking about rescuing young Druids and magic, back then when everything was so much simpler.  
  
"How do you know?" she asked, curious.  
  
Merlin gulped. Should he tell her? Well, he might as well — what had he left to lose? "I hatched her. I am," he hesitated. "I am a dragonlord."  
  
Morgana's eyebrow shot up. She had read about dragonlords in one of her books, and she had asked Morgause about them. "Aren't they supposed to be all dead? And I thought the power could only be passed from father to son," she said. After a moment of confusion, her eyes widened in realisation. "Your father...!"  
  
"...Was a dragonlord, too. Yes. His name was Balinor, I met him shortly after Morgause brought you out of Camelot. He died in my arms to protect me. If only I weren't so useless with a sword..." he muttered, lost in grief and self-loathing.  
  
He was shaken out of his musings when Morgana sighed quietly. "I know how it feels to lose a father. I'm sorry for your loss," she said, eyes watering as she thought of Gorlois.  
  
Merlin hid the sob threatening to burst out of his throat with a chuckle. "Maybe magic isn't the only thing we have in common," he teased.  
  
The witch smiled at him, and for the first time it was genuine. "Yes," she replied, "maybe it's not."  
  
The heavy tension hanging in the air until that moment seemed to have loosened a bit. Silence fell in the well again, but this time it was almost... Comfortable.  
  
At least until the moment was broken by noises coming from the entrance of their prison. They both raised their head to see one of the Sarrum's thugs staring back at them, while another was claiming down to get them up.  
  
"The king wants to see you," the burly man said.  
  
Merlin's confusion quickly turned into panic when Morgana's terrified eyes met his. What could scare her so much?  
  
---


	4. Chapter 3

Morgana woke up abruptly, gasping in fear and pain.  
  
Glancing at the little dragon, she sighed in relief when she noticed it was unharmed. She almost had a heart attack when her eyes fell on an unconscious Merlin, but then she remembered everything about the previous day and relaxed.  
  
The last questioning had been particularly _unpleasant_. Maybe it was the Sarrum's presence, or maybe it was Merlin's — she didn't know why, but her tormentors had been rougher than usual. Of course, thanks to her natural magic — no restraints could keep it from flowing inside her — the wounds would heal too quickly to be healthy, and she would be in a great deal of pain as soon as the healing process started. It was not the first time it happened, and she feared it wouldn't be the last.  
  
However, she realised that it had been Merlin's first torture session — the Sarrum's thugs called them 'questionings', but there was actually more beating than asking. They _demanded_ things, and it didn't matter if the prisoner answered or not, because they would get hurt anyway. If they answered, though, they wouldn't be beaten too harshly. Morgana felt sick at the thought that she had begun to know what to expect from those men.  
  
A noise brought her attention back to Merlin. He was stirring, and by all the trashing she guessed he was either having a nightmare or he was hurt quite badly. The witch almost felt sorry for him. Even though they had been brought to separate chambers to be questioned, she had heard every single one of his screams — like he had hers. The Sarrum's mercenaries had showed more interest in him than her, excited for their new plaything.  
  
_(should she feel grateful?)_  
  
Well, if the small grunts of discomfort he was letting out were anything to go by, the man in question would indeed awaken soon.  
  
Morgana wasn't surprised when he came to consciousness with a jolt, much like she had done. What they had been through was something bound to scar them forever (and not only physically).  
  
The warlock's eyes travelled in a panicked haze around the well before falling on his nemesis-turned-companion. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then thought better of it, resorting to try and wipe away the dried blood that had come out of his nose with his upper arm — the only part close enough to his face which he could move easily enough with his hands bound over his head.  
  
Morgana didn't know if his powers would heal him as hers would, or at least make up for the lack of food and water. And no, that wasn't worry, just practicality — she didn't want to have to deal with the stench of a corpse in such a small space, thank you very much. She wasn't worried at all (or so she told herself).  
  
The silence was getting annoying, and so she tried to break it. "You know what?" she said suddenly, voice rough from screaming. "If I get out of this, I promise I will never attack Camelot again. I don't care about the throne anymore. I just want to get as far as possible from that wretched place and finally be able to live in peace. If you'll let me, that is."  
  
The former servant's eyebrows disappeared under his hair. "That was... unexpected," he muttered, not knowing if he should cry victory to the heavens or still be wary around the witch. He opted for the second. "Very unexpected. What brought it on?"  
  
She shrugged. "Being imprisoned in here made me realise that I value my freedom and autonomy more than anything else. Anger, bitterness, hatred... they're feeble emotions, born out of fear and pain. Temporary. I spent years trying to take Camelot when I could have focused on so many other things. Like my magic, for example; I haven't sat down and learned a new spell in what feels like forever."  
  
Merlin snorted. "You're not the only one, believe me. Trying to practice magic in Camelot is not only dangerous, but difficult, too. As a servant, I am rarely left alone and if I am, then I spend my free time asleep. It's a tiring job, especially when the queen isn't around to mollify the royal prat."  
  
Despite his words, a small smile had formed upon his face at the thought of his friends. A sudden pang of nostalgia overtook him, and the grimace he wore didn't go unnoticed by Morgana.  
  
"You miss them, don't you?" she asked softly, not unkindly, and her eyes betrayed a longing of her own — Merlin didn't dare voice it aloud, but he thought she missed Camelot as much as him.  
  
"Of course I do. But it doesn't matter — I won't go back there, not after what happened," he explained gravely, blue eyes filling with melancholy.  
  
Morgana instantly knew she had touched a sore spot, but curiosity got the better of her. "Do you feel like telling me?" she asked, knowing that, in spite of their attempted subtlety, there were few things they didn't know about each other by now. But still, sometimes people just wouldn't talk about their inner demons aloud. And Merlin was such a secretive young man — she wouldn't be surprised if he chose to keep silent on the matter.  
  
A beat, and he opened his mouth to answer. "Arthur knows."  
  
It was enough. Morgana instantly knew what he meant, and what it meant for him. Even if he managed to get out of the well, he would be a criminal in Camelot. "You _can't_ go back," she breathed, surprising herself by how much the thought unsettled her. _Of course_ , she could relate with him — Camelot had once been her home, then for a short time it had been her domain, and then it had become a place she couldn't step in lest she be cut down by Arthur's knights.  
  
"How did he find out?" she asked without preambles, too curious to be tactful.  
  
Merlin didn't seem to mind. He let out a sigh, and his dirty hands curled into tight fists. "We were patrolling. Normally, Arthur would have sent a couple knights in his place, but this time I think he needed to get out of the castle — the last couple of months have been quite stressful, and Gwen suggested he leave Camelot. There were rumours about bounty hunters in our territory — as we found out later, they were mercenaries hired by the Sarrum — so I went with him to know more," he explained.  
  
Morgana listened to his tale with wide eyes. Even if it wasn't surprising, she was worried for the mercenaries' closeness to her former home — there were many Druid camps in that territory, and she feared for her kin. Longing to know more, she urged Merlin to continue when he got lost in his memories.  
  
Letting out a long sigh, he resolved to tell her everything. "At first, nothing seemed unusual; we were enjoying the view and the fresh air of the forest, exchanging tales with the knights. The bounty hunters took us by surprise."  
  
---


	5. Chapter 4

Laughter echoed into the otherwise peaceful forest, accompanied by the sound of horses' hooves hitting the leafy ground.  
  
"...and then," said Gwaine, pausing to stifle his laughter, "then he fell asleep on top of the barmaid. Half-naked, in the middle of fornicating, and he fell asleep! You should have seen the maid's face — so outraged that she slapped him awake!"  
  
The others laughed in unison. They were having quite a good time — it had been long since they had gone out all together; the king, Merlin, and the four knights.  
  
The warlock realised that he had truly missed these going-outs. Life was so busy in Camelot that they had forgotten how great it was to spend time together.  
  
Seeing the joyful expression on his servant's face, Arthur turned to him to tease him about being a girl — _were you the maid Gwaine was talking about, Merlin?_ — but he never got the chance to say anything.  
  
Bandits were riding towards them. _Too many_ , Arthur mused. "Run! We're outnumbered!"  
  
They split and went each on their way, rising their weapons high to fight whoever got in their path. Only Merlin stayed back to wait for the king, following him when he chose where to go.  
  
The golden-haired man led them to a clearing, where a dozen of bandits stopped them.  
  
Realising they couldn't run anymore, the two men jumped down from their horses. Merlin took out his sword — courtesy of the queen — and focused a spell on a branch to make it fall on the head of one of their opponents.  
  
Arthur fought as valiantly as ever, and marvelled at his servant's progresses in sword-fighting.  
  
Too busy fending off one of the bandits, he didn't see the other coming from behind him with a raised sword, ready to deal him a deadly blow. He closed his eyes, knowing he wouldn't be able to block the blade in time, and waited for the pain to come.  
  
" _Gestillan!_ "  
  
Arthur's eyes snapped opened in surprise to find the sword just a breath away from his nose. Still frozen in place, he saw the bandit flying across the clearing and landing on a tree's trunk, unconscious.  
  
Silence fell. A part of him knew that there was only one explanation for it, only one person who could have cast a spell to protect him. But he couldn't admit it to himself, not until he had the confirmation.  
  
Feeling faint, he turned towards his servant. "Merlin?" he called, uncertainly, hoping his suspicions wouldn't be proven true. "What... Was that you?"  
  
Merlin's eyes were so wide and fearful that no answer was needed.  
  
Arthur's hurt squeezed painfully inside his chest. He felt beyond cheated, he felt... _Betrayed_. The blonde had trusted Merlin with his whole being, and he had turned out to be just like Morgana and Agravaine. A traitor.  
  
But Merlin... He had used to magic to _save_ him, not to hurt him. Did it make him any different? Hadn't the younger man still betrayed his trust?  
  
The men's eyes stayed locked for what seemed eternities. They were too distracted to notice two of the bandits getting up and stalking towards them.  
  
Arthur was disarmed and restrained, but kept looking at Merlin and saw him get hit with the hilt of a sword. He would have screamed, but his mouth was covered by a hand. It didn't matter; he bit the hand and called for his friend, not caring about the recent reveal of his treachery. Merlin was every bit his friend as he had always been, magic or not.  
  
"Merlin!" he yelled, with all the voice he could muster. The young man lifted hazy eyes to him and blinked, stunned by the hit, before those blue orbs disappeared under heavy eyelids.  
  
Arthur was hit, too, and the last thing he saw before falling unconscious was the bandits putting iron manacles on Merlin's wrists.  
  
The king would be awakened by the knights not long after to find his best friend already gone.  
  


* * *

  
Morgana looked at her fellow prisoner sympathetically. "So... You don't know how Arthur reacted to your magic?"  
  
Merlin shook his head. "He didn't get the chance to say or do anything. But... I'm sure, he looked more distraught than angry. And that's what worries me most. He has been betrayed by so many people already. I never wanted to be on the 'traitors' list," he said, looking sadly at his feet.  
  
The woman felt sorry for him. She understood how he felt — when she lived in Camelot, she had often thought about how people would have reacted to her magic. Arthur's reaction had been one of those she feared most, because she used to care about him greatly. Had he tried to hurt her, she probably would have let him.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said softly.  
  
Merlin shrugged and smiled, but his eyes were no less sad than earlier. "It's not your fault. It's the Sarrum's fault. He sent those mercenaries — Arthur thought them bounty hunters — in Camelot's territory, and they caught me. I would let Arthur find about my magic any day if it was to save his life, so there wasn't any other way it could have gone, really. But thank you. I'm glad you understand."  
  
They didn't speak for a while after that.  
  
On the verge of falling asleep, Morgana almost had a heart attack when Merlin suddenly whispered "I failed my destiny..."  
  
She was confused. Was he delusional? "What are you talking about?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow skeptically.  
  
He startled; apparently, he hadn't meant to say it aloud. Briefly wondering if lying would be a better choice, he discarded the idea and took a deep breath in order to get ready to spill another secret.  
  
"During one of my first days in Camelot," he began, hands twitching nervously over his head, "I heard a voice calling my name over and over. Soon I realised that no one beside me could hear it, and that it was in my head. It was the dragon captured during the Purge — he had been trapped in a cave under Camelot."  
  
"I've heard of it — _him_ ," Morgana interrupted him, mesmerised by the idea of such a majestic creature, a fully-grown dragon, having lived below her feet for so long. "I grew up hearing tales about dragons, and they all said he was the last one. Luckily, we also have Aithusa. But please, don't let me interrupt you."  
  
Merlin smiled at her and continued to recount the event. "The dragon, whose name I later found out to be Kilgharrah, told me that I was destined to protect Arthur Pendragon. Of course, I was skeptical. Kigharrah must have gotten the wrong person, and especially the wrong Arthur — he was such a prat at the time! But he wouldn't change his mind. Do you remember Helen of Mora? And Mary Collins?" he asked, waiting for Morgana to nod in confirmation. "I managed to save Arthur because I realised there was something wrong with the song, and you nobles were all falling asleep. I made the chandelier fall on her, but she threw the dagger — which I slowed with magic, in time to save Arthur."  
  
The woman in front of him smirked. "And Uther repaid you by choosing you as Arthur's servant," she teased him. "Such a honour, I bet."  
  
Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes, I would have killed to keep that position," he said, and then frowned. "Actually, I _did_ kill people to protect Arthur."  
  
He paused, drowning in guilt, before shaking his head to get our of his reverie. "The dragon was right. My destiny is— _was_ to protect Arthur, the Once and Future King."  
  
Morgana would have cheered him up, had his words not rung a bell in her head. _The Once and Future King? Wasn't he the man destined to reunite Albion and bring magic back? And wasn't he meant to be protected by... by..._  
  
"You're Emrys," she breathed. "You are... _Emrys_."  
  
Swallowing thickly, he admitted "Yes," aware that this revelation for Morgana was probably just as shock-inducing as the actual discovery of his powers. "I'm Emrys."  
  
The witch appeared to be in a catatonic state, eyes wide with fear and eyebrows lifted in surprise, with her mouth hanging opened — she must have looked ridiculous, but she didn't care.  
  
Thoughts and memories swirled through her head like a hurricane, leaving wreckage in their wake.  
  
_He's your destiny, and he is your doom. Destiny, doom. Destiny, doom. Destiny, doom. Destiny, doom, destiny destiny destiny — doom. He is your doom. Emrys. Merlin. Doom... Doom... Doom—_  
  
"Morgana!"  
  
She was hyperventilating. She knew she was hurting herself by getting this agitated but she could do nothing to stop it. _Merlin was Emrys!_  
  
A foot collided hard with her shin and she yelled in pain, subconsciously flinching in pain. She raised her head to see Merlin looking at her worriedly, with nothing but kindness in his eyes and for a moment she felt about to throw up.  
  
How could Merlin, the only one who had managed to gain her trust once again, be the cause of her destruction?  
  
"I need... _Time_ ," she choked out, still breathing unevenly. For now, I'll ask you to stay away from me."  
  
Merlin opened his mouth to protest when a sliding sound broke through the stillness of the place. Bright light cascaded over them — they were used to receiving only a limited quantity of sunshine through a hole in the stone that kept the well serrated.  
  
Aithusa woke up at the noise and whimpered, scared — even she knew what was to come. Morgana trembled in fear and vainly struggled against her restraints.  
  
Call it instinct or call it magic, somehow Merlin had a feeling that, this time, the questioning would be different. Worse.  
  
---  
  
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spells:**
> 
> "Gestillan" — imperative form, it means "Be still".


	6. Chapter 5

In spite of Merlin's wariness, at first, nothing seemed unusual. It was exactly like the other times; they would be dragged out of the well, and Aithusa would be tied to a heavy chain outside of it.  
  
The little dragon was left relatively free to move, and both Morgana and Merlin were grateful for that small mercy. They almost looked forward to it, if it meant that Aithusa could breathe a bit of fresh and healthy air — she was just a child, barely a year old, and she was already growing crippled due to the small dimensions of their prison.  
  
A burly man came down tied to a rope, holding the end of another in his hand. Just like the previous times, he unshackled Merlin and motioned for him to stand up. He put some manacles on the young man's wrists and tied him with the other rope. In that moment Merlin glanced at Morgana, who was still tied up — not really knowing why, probably because he needed to make sure that she was safe and still _there_.  
  
The rogue freed Aithusa and handed her to the warlock, who cradled her tiny form in his sore arms — or tried to, given that his wrists were shackled together. The scoundrel tugged on the rope tied around him and his accomplices dragged them up. The same process was repeated with Morgana. Once she was out, she saw Aithusa being tied up and almost wept at the terrified whimpers coming out of the creature's snout. There were few things she wouldn't have done to spare the dragon the pain of enduring such harsh treatment.  
  
That aside, neither Morgana nor Merlin were exceptionally worried, because nothing had changed since the last questioning. Of course, they were concerned for each other and feared the pain they knew was to come, but were mostly resigned to their fate. It didn't mean that they were giving up though — they _would_ find a way to get free.  
  
The men led them inside an ominous looking castle, less than a minute's walk from the well. They were brought into the wing near the cells that was specially organised for torturing prisoners — it was a place they had gotten to know with time.  
  
When they arrived, they were surprised to see the Sarrum there. Granted, it wasn't the first time he assisted to one of their torture sessions, but it was still a rarity.  
  
The king of Amata stood up from the rich chair he was sitting upon — one he had ordered brought there especially to enjoy his prisoners' screams — and walked up to them. Would he question them himself? _That_ was a first.  
  
The bald man stared at Morgana, and when he asked her, "Have you ever heard of the sorcerer Emrys?", Merlin was sure he would not be long for the world. Why should Morgana keep _this_ secret of his? She didn't owe him anything.  
  
To his utter astonishment, however, the high priestess bit her lip and shook her head. Looking down in fear, she barely whispered, "No."  
  
The Sarrum smirked as if he knew that she was lying, but did nothing to prove it. Instead, he turned towards Merlin, who didn't appear as scared as the woman did — he _was_ afraid, but he had to act strong for Morgana's sake. "What about you, boy? Do you know anything about Emrys?"  
  
Merlin knew that if he told him the truth, that _he_ was Emrys, he would be killed before he got the chance to even _think_ about a spell — not to mention that the magic-blocking manacles wouldn't allow him to cast it. There was a slight possibility that Morgana would be freed, but there was no way for him to know if he died. And frankly, having gotten to know the Sarrum's lack of mercy, he doubted he would spare the witch.  
  
On the other hand, if he lied, he would be tortured and so would Morgana, but at least he would still be alive to protect her and Aithusa — or try to.  
  
All this reasoning took about half a second in Merlin's mind. With a silent pray to the Triple Goddess, he swallowed. "No," he said, his voice resonating through the dark cells.  
  
The Sarrum didn't look surprised. In fact, he almost seemed _pleased_ about the outcome of the short questioning. "Fine," he spat. "If you won't cooperate, then I'll have to punish you."  
  
His cold, piercing gaze travelled between them, taking in Merlin's protective stance near Morgana. He smirked again, and turned to his men. "Tie the boy. Take the girl and have fun with her — I know you've all been waiting to do just that. You're free to do as you wish, with no need to hold back. Just one thing," he paused. "Don't let him look away. Make sure he sees what happens to his _precious_ friend when he lies to me."  
  
With a last cold stare at Merlin, he went to sit on his chair to enjoy the show.  
  
The young man, who had been too busy observing the Sarrum to truly take in the meaning of his words, finally realised what was about to happen when a couple of scoundrels led him away while the others glanced appreciatively at Morgana, licking their lips in anticipation.  
  
The woman seemed to have gotten smaller, frailer as she stumbled back, trying to get away from her tormentors. Her terrified green eyes moved around almost maniacally, helplessly looking for a way to escape and finally locking with Merlin's in a desperate plea for help.  
  
The warlock was sure he had never felt so much fear as in that moment, powerless against the horror about to occur. "No!" he yelled. "Stop — let her go! _Please_ , take me instead!"  
  
He didn't expect them to listen to him, truly, he was sure that he would have to watch as they forced themselves upon a defenceless Morgana — the mere thought gave him the chills and made him feel nauseous.  
  
But then, unexpectedly, the Sarrum held up a hand and everyone halted. He stood up. "Wait," he murmured, his quiet and raspy voice echoing clearly through the silence of the cells. "Stop. I fear what this sorcerer would do if you kept going. He clearly cares about his," a eyebrow raised mockingly, " _girlfriend_. She's more useful to us unhurt. Might be easier to break when she sees him bleed out."  
  
The thugs obeyed instantly, though a bit unwillingly, releasing Morgana and tying her to a chair, and then proceeding to beat Merlin up.  
  
A shower of punches covered every inch of his face, and he was sure his nose got broken. At a point in the middle of his agony they stopped, removed his shirt and turned him around. He didn't need to wait long to know what they would do; soon, he felt the burning pain of a whip slapping his back.  
  
Merlin's screams ceased not long after the fifth lash, but Morgana kept crying and shrieking until all twenty of them were delivered.  
  


* * *

  
When they were thrown back into the well, Merlin — barely conscious — noticed through his hazy eyes that Morgana's hair had been cut unevenly, probably with a dagger, and now it barely reached her shoulders. "Wha' happen'd t'yor hair?" he slurred out, fighting the urge to vomit at the horrible pain in his back.  
  
The woman was still crying. "T-They cut it to sell it... Witch's hair, they said, would be good to light up the fire to b-burn sorcerers at the stake," she explained through her sobs. Her pride had been lost along with her hair, but that wasn't what had shaken her so much. It had been Merlin's selflessness, his courage and his will to put his life on the line for her, someone who had once wanted to kill him.  
  
He didn't reply. For a moment, Morgana thought he was asleep, but when he winced she realised that he was in too much pain to do so. Her eyes stung and a fresh wave of tears cascaded over her reddened cheeks. "I-I'm sorry! I'm sorry, it's my fault! Y-You should have let them—"  
  
Merlin stopped her rant by opening his blue eyes, trying to transmit all the outrage he felt at what she had been about to say. "Don' ev'r think I'd let tha' happen t'you. Don' wan' you t'get hurt."  
  
She hiccuped again, her heart bursting with gratitude. " _Thank you_ ," she choked out. "Thank you so much."  
  
Merlin frowned at her tears and tried to grin. With a soft kick to her shin, he muttered, "Don' worry, shor' hair suits you."  
  
The witch hiccuped a laugh at his attempt to cheer her up, and wiped her tears with the part of her arm she could move. "There's something about you, Merlin. I don't think I could ever meet someone like you. Thank you," she repeated, grateful now not just for his help, but also for his comfort.  
  
He smiled at her shortly and then closed his eyes. The crack of his broken nose fixing itself resonated through the well, and both winced when hearing it.  
  
It was evident he was trying to fall asleep, but still struggled to do so. And so Morgana did something she had never done before; she sang. Quietly, tentatively, she sang to him a lullaby Gwen used to hum when she had a nightmare, her voice as sweet as honey to Merlin.  
  
He fell asleep with a smile on his bruised face.  
  
(Morgana's head felt much lighter with her hair cut short, but the lightness in her heart was of a completely different kind.)  
   
  
---


	7. Chapter 6

Two weeks later, Merlin felt a lot better, and so did Morgana.  
  
There hadn't been any other torture sessions. Apparently, the Sarrum wished for them to heal completely before questioning them again.  
  
Merlin was more than grateful for that. Their last meeting with the king of Amata had left them deeply wounded, both physically and emotionally. Especially Morgana; she had changed since then, acting more subduedly and skittishly.  
  
However, not all evils came to hurt. Morgana and Merlin had gotten closer than ever after that episode — the thought of getting separated was almost unbearable now. It was like they depended on each other.  
  
That was why Merlin _needed_ to find a way out. Not for himself — he couldn't go back to Camelot, could he? — but for the woman who in that moment was sleeping in front of him, and for Aithusa. He had sworn to himself that he would protect them and free them, and it wasn't a promise he was wiling to break.  
  
Merlin was still astounded by how quickly Morgana and he had come to care for each other, uncaring of past betrayals.  
  
With a start, he realised that he had opened up to her so easily because he had seen a flash of the old Morgana in her, the girl he had admired since the first time he had laid eyes on her, the day of Thomas Collins' execution.  
  
But what had led her to trust him? Was it the need of a companion, a friend in such a horrible situation? Or could it be that she had never been sure about leaving Camelot and turning against them all? It had all happened so quickly, and she had been so uncertain about everything... Did she see in him a chance of redemption for her past sins? If she did, he had no objections. It was the same for him — by helping her he was attempting to compensate all the wrongs he had done to her when she was still Uther's ward.  
  
The warlock was shaken out of his musings when the subject of his thoughts suddenly shifted in her sleep. Was she having a nightmare? It wasn't such a far-fetched hypothesis — it had happened quite often during their imprisonment. Whenever she had one of them, she would wake up panicked and with teary eyes. It tore at Merlin's heart to see her in such a state.  
  
He had to get her out. Soon.  
  
Moving carefully to avoid disturbing Aithusa — who had taken up the habit of sleeping on his thigh — Merlin raised his head to look at the manacles tying him to the wall by the wrists. They were made of cold iron, a material which had the ability to trap someone's magic inside their bodies. Gaius had once told him that it was vastly used during the earliest part of the Great Purge, to render sorcerers powerless.  
  
Merlin reflected about it; it blocked people's powers, but it didn't eliminate it. So his magic was still there. If he focused enough, he could feel it inside his chest — pulsing and swirling in his body, tearing at his insides to get out.  
  
He decided to give it a try. Looking to the ground, he tried with all his might to light up a flame. " _Forbearnan_ ," he whispered. " _Forbearnan!_ " he repeated, slightly louder this time.  
  
Merlin knew his eyes were shifting between blue and gold. He was close to making it, so close he could almost _taste_ the wonderful feeling of casting a spell. His magic was pounding against the barriers locking it inside him, relentlessly pushing to get out. It was something he had always felt since the day he was born, and using it was like fulfilling a primal need, something he couldn't live without.  
  
Letting his eyelids fall over his visions, he imagined a small flame bursting out of thin air and dancing on the ground. " _Forbearnan_ ," he breathed, and felt a burst of magic get out.  
  
When he opened his eyes, he was delighted to see that it had worked. The light from the small fire was like a beacon of hope to him — if he had managed to do an elementary spell, he could also do a difficult one. He could break the shackles, he just needed some practice.  
  
The adrenaline traveling through his veins was running out, and he began to feel the results of trying so hard to use magic. His head hurt and it was hard to breathe, but that small price to pay went almost unnoticed in light of his accomplishment.  
  
Lost in his elation, Merlin almost had a heart attack when Morgana shifted again.  
  
It was evident she was in the middle of a nightmare. Her sweaty face was contorted into a fearful expression, her chest spasming arrhythmically with the panicked breaths she was taking.  
  
Merlin realised he had to do something when she began to whimper and cry. Gently hitting her shin with his feet, he tried to wake her, but it didn't work.  
  
"Morgana," he called. Nothing. "Morgana!" he repeated, louder, almost screaming.  
  
Her eyes snapped opened and fearfully looked at her surroundings. When those green orbs, bright with tears, met Merlin's blue ones, Morgana calmed down. Letting out a sigh of relief, she relaxed and gave him the closest thing to a smile she could manage.  
  
"You were having a nightmare," Merlin explained her. "It looked bad, so I woke you up."  
  
The witch smiled again, grateful. "It _was_ bad. Thank you."  
  
Despite the facade of tranquility displayed on her face, Merlin could see in her eyes that whatever she had seen in her sleep still haunted her.  
  
"Do you..." he hesitated. "Do you feel like telling me what you saw?"  
  
Morgana nodded, but didn't speak immediately. After a long breath, she explained "It wasn't a vision, just a nightmare. I haven't had any visions since I was captured — my magic is restrained, and apparently, so are my Seer powers." After a pause, "I dreamt that you never came here. I was in this well with Aithusa for a long time, and it was like I wasn't myself. When I got out, I was... I think I was crazy, or close to that."  
  
Merlin would have said something, had she not preceded him by saying "I'm so glad you are here. I mean, I know it would be better if you were free, of course — but in a selfish way I'm grateful for your presence. If you weren't here, I probably would have gone mad like in my dream. Again, thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you," she confessed, blushing at the last part.  
  
The warlock smiled fondly. "You are worth a thousand torture sessions, Morgana. Even if I could get free, I wouldn't if I couldn't bring you with me. Don't thank me for being beside you — it's something I like doing."  
  
She smiled back at him. Comfortable silence settled between them, but it was soon interrupted by Merlin. "I managed to cast a spell," he blurted out, too excited to keep it to himself.  
  
Morgana gaped openmouthedly at him, eyes wide with disbelief. "W-What... How..." she stuttered, before her face broke into a grin. "Can you do it again?"  
  
Merlin nodded eagerly. Focusing like he had done earlier on his magic, he whispered " _Forbearnan_." This time at his first try, the magical flame appeared on the ground.  
  
He raised his head to look at Morgana's reaction. The light of the flame reflected in her eyes, making them look gold and brighter than ever.  
  
She was beautiful, Merlin realised. He had forgotten how smitten by her he used to be. In that moment, even though her hair was roughly cut to the shoulders and her face was covered in dirt, to him, Morgana looked ever bit as beautiful as when she lived in Camelot.  
  
"Why are you looking at me like that?" the witch inquired, confused.  
  
Merlin shook his head and grinned, hoping the penumbra would hide his flushed cheeks. "I just noticed that you still look like you did in Camelot," he explained.  
  
"Shouldn't I? I might have short hair now, but my face is the same," she stated, with a half-amused and half-confused frown.  
  
"Your eyes," he whispered. "They haven't changed."  
  
The warlock would have said more, hadn't the magical flame gone out. He winced and tightened his fists to fight the pain.  
  
"What is it?" Morgana asked, worried about him. "Does it hurt? Using magic with this restraints?"  
  
Merlin breathed in through his nose and swallowed. "A bit," he choked out. "My head feels like it's on fire. But it doesn't matter — if I keep exercising, I will be able to free us, and that's what truly matters."  
  
The high priestess sighed, knowing there was no other way. "Just try not to harm yourself," she said, aware that he had shown her magic just to ease her fears. "Rest, now. I know you want to."  
  
She was right. Merlin nodded and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly, giving her the chance to think about the last happenings.  
  
They had both changed so much lately. Morgana never thought she would find someone to whom she would feel so connected that the mere thought of being separated from them made her feel faint. It was a strange feeling, but at the same time, she felt giddy thinking about it. She now had a friend, a true friend, and it didn't matter what had happened in the past — both of them had come to terms with it, and there was no use crying over spilled milk.  
  
In the end, she was almost grateful to have been caught by the Sarrum. _This_ was worth all the suffering she had gone through. _Merlin_ was worth it.  
  
---  
  
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spells:**
> 
> "Forbearnan" — imperative form, it means "Burn up".


	8. Chapter 7

"We're running away."  
  
Morgana looked at Merlin with a surprised frown on her pale face.  
  
One week had passed since he had shown her that he could still use magic even with the cold iron manacles on his wrists, and the warlock was now getting restless. There was no time to lose.  
  
The witch looked at him. "When?" she simply asked.  
  
Merlin smiled. He would enjoy shocking her. "Right now," he said, and relished in the almost comical widening of her eyes and her open-mouthed gaping expression. "Are you ready?"  
  
Morgana, after having regained her composure, straightened her back as much as she could. "As ready as I'll ever be."  
  
The warlock nodded at her and closed his eyes, focusing on opening his manacles. He had practiced with other spells and had managed to master them all, becoming almost immune to the pain. Hoping for the best, he whispered " _Unspanne me_ ," while picturing in his head the shackles unfastening.  
  
Opening his eyes to check, he was disappointed. He met Morgana's anxious eyes, "Don't worry," he said. "It will work."  
  
Closing his eyes once again, he focused on what he needed to do. But soon, his own mind betrayed him, and his thoughts strayed to something else — or better, _someone_ else. His head was full of images of the woman in front of him.  
  
The first time he saw her, looking out from her window during Thomas Collins' execution, he thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes upon — a princess trapped in the taller tower of the palace, like in the tales his mother used to tell him at night. Then she became one of his best friends, and he came to cherish her greatly. She helped him with the Afanc, he helped her with Mordred, she helped him with Ealdor, he helped her with her nightmares. She thanked him for letting her meet the Druids, she told him he was good friend, but really he wasn't — he could have told her, he could have finally told her, but he didn't. Then the last betrayal, the most hurtful — he condemned her to death, he used her as leverage to save Camelot. He could still see her clearly — suffocating, wheezing, agonising in his arms, and looking at him with those bright, scared eyes.  
  
And suddenly his mind flashed forwards, to the moment when she was crying for him, sobbing, screaming her lungs out because he was being hurt in her stead. Her eyes had stayed the same, even though almost ten years had passed since she had lived in Camelot. She was still the same woman who had told him that maybe magic wasn't evil and wasn't something people chose, disregarding Uther's lessons completely because she saw in Mordred an innocent young boy and not a dangerous sorcerer.  
  
She had done many horrible things since then, but so had he, and now Destiny had brought them together once again.  
  
They trusted each other, believed in each other. That was why he couldn't disappoint her — he knew she wouldn't blame him, but he would blame himself for not keeping his promise. He would free her, be it the last thing he did, but he _would_.  
  
With that thought in mind — that his objective wasn't opening the manacles, but freeing Morgana and Aithusa and himself — Merlin closed his eyes and breathed in. " _Unspanne me_ ," he said loudly and clearly.  
  
The sound of metal clattering on the ground was like honey to his ears.  
  
Merlin opened his eyes and grinned at Morgana, showing her his unbound — but sore — wrists. She laughed out loud, something she had never done in front of him before — a lady laughing heartily was frowned upon, and laughing while imprisoned was a bit out of question. But now the idea of being free was a solid possibility, and Morgana showed her joy in the most instinctive way.  
  
" _Unspanne þás mægþ_ ," Merlin muttered, and Morgana's shackles opened. He looked down at Aithusa and his eyes glowed gold — oh, what a wonderful thing it was to be able to cast a spell without reciting it — and the chain tied around the dragon's neck unfastened, falling to the ground.  
  
Feeling giddy, the warlock finally stood up and stretched his limbs, closing his eyes for a moment to fully bathe in the sensation of his magic flowing freely inside his body. It felt like flying — it was the most inebriating things he had ever experienced.  
  
Merlin would have loved to stay like that for a bit longer, but the matter at hand demanded his whole attention. He glanced at Morgana and helped her up. Smiling lopsidedly, he gestured for her to do as she pleased. "Ladies first."  
  
The high priestess snorted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Do you still see a lady in me?", but nonetheless proceeded to do what she had to.  
  
Raising her head, she looked at the opening of the well, a good ten meters above their heads. She knew that the Sarrum's thugs kept ropes tied to the border of the opening, which were used to bring the prisoners out to question them — there they had the means to escape.  
  
With a glow of her eyes, she made two ropes silently fall down. "Here," she said, handing one to Merlin. "Tie it around your waist," she instructed, and proceeded to do the same. She knelt down to cradle Aithusa in her arms and then stood up again. Breathing in deeply, she looked at Merlin, who had been staring at her, and told him "I'm ready."  
  
The warlock nodded, and raised his hand to cast a silent incantation. The ropes began to move slowly but constantly, lifting both of them up.  
  
In a matter of minutes, they had reached the border of the well. Merlin looked over it and saw that the scoundrels the Sarrum had sent to keep watch were sleeping. He heaved himself up, over the border and on solid ground, and then helped Morgana up.  
  
After unbinding himself and the witch, he walked carefully towards the thugs and, looking at the ropes, whispered " _Gehæftan_."  
  
The ropes moved soundlessly and wove around the bodies of the men, effectively restraining them, but waking them up. Before they had the chance to call for help, though, Morgana made them fall unconscious with a wave of her hand.  
  
Merlin smiled at her, grateful, and then gestured for her to follow him.  
  
They made their way out of the castle grounds and managed to run undisturbed for a dozen of minutes, until the warning bell sounded. "Damn it," Merlin cursed. "They must have noticed our disappearance. We have to hurry."  
  
Morgana glanced at him, worried, but never stopping in her tracks. "It doesn't matter if we hurry or not. They have horses and will reach us, eventually. We must find somewhere to go."  
  
Merlin threw her a grin. "O ye, of little faith — I planned this out already," he said, stopping to avoid tripping over a tree's root. "Now that I don't have those manacles on, my dragonlord abilities have returned. I will call Kilgharrah as soon as we reach a clearing big enough, and he'll bring us to safety."  
  
The witch let out a sigh of relief, and tried to increase her speed as much as she could with Aithusa in her arms. "Good to know," she panted, and was about to add something else when she heard the sound of horses' hooves hitting the ground. Her heart squeezed in fear inside her chest, "They found us!" she yelled, and in the desperate tone of voice Merlin heard all the fear she was feeling.  
  
He was beginning to panic, too, until he realised that the trees were thinning and that they were getting close to a clearing. " _Ω δρακον, έάω μαλερός σοφόνους φθέγγομαι τείδε άναδικέω!_ " he roared, almost out of breath.  
  
They reached the area where Kilgharrah would land, and hoped the dragon would arrive soon — or at least before the mercenaries caught up with them.  
  
Merlin turned around to see a couple of men riding black horses, and to his chagrin he realised that one of them had bow and arrows. At the same time, he felt Kilgharrah's presence get closer.  
  
Too busy focusing on his connection to the dragon, he didn't notice the arrow coming towards them until he heard Morgana calling his name. "Merlin, look out!" she warned.  
  
It was too late; the arrow had already embedded itself in Merlin's flank, and in the timespan of a heartbeat he went from upright to kneeling on the ground, cradling the wound and trying to stop the blood flow.  
  
Morgana crouched beside him but kept looking at their opponents, erecting an invisible barrier around them. She then raised her head to look at the sky, and was relieved to see the dragon about to land.  
  
When the mighty beast touched the ground, it was evident he was surprised to see Morgana. "You," he roared, but what insult he might have had on the tip of his tongue seemed to die as soon as his orange eyes fell on Merlin.  
  
The warlock was still conscious, but if the amount of blood he was losing was anything to go by, he wouldn't be for long. In his haze, though, he seemed to sense the dragon's reluctance to let Morgana ride him. "Kilgharrah, please," he begged. "We need your help."  
  
The beast narrowed his eyes in mistrust, but nonetheless bowed to them. Merlin stood up on shaky legs, and Morgana hurried to help him walk. Aithusa half-flew, half-climbed on the larger dragon, while they carefully made their way on his back.  
  
Kilgharrah opened his wings and leapt in the air, spitting fire over the Sarrum's thugs and incinerating them.  
  
Flying was the best feeling in the world, but Morgana had no time to enjoy it. She had to staunch the blood flow from Merlin's wound, but first she needed to remove the arrow. Curling her hands around the shaft, she pulled it out with a brusque movement, ignoring Merlin's pained groan. Instantly, dark blood began to pour out of the small but deep wound, and she firmly pressed her hand on it to keep the haemorrhage at bay.  
  
Her cold exterior might have made it look like she knew what she was doing, like she was an expert in these matters. Truth was, she really wasn't — and she couldn't help the lump of fear that got stuck in her throat. Merlin couldn't die, he _couldn't_ — they had come so far, further then they ever expected, and now he went and got himself killed? It wasn't right.  
  
Trying not to hyperventilate, Morgana closed her eyes and put her hands on the wound. " _Ic ðe ðurhhæle ðinu licsar mid ðam sundorcræft ðære ealdan æ. Drycræft ðurhhæle ðina wunda ond ðe geedstaðolie_ ," she whispered. It had to work — it had always worked until now.  
  
Morgana opened her eyes, but was disappointed to find that the wound hadn't closed. It was to be expected, really — she was too weak and hadn't used magic for a long time.  
  
Tears blurred her vision. "Merlin," she choked out. "Merlin, _please_. It can't end like this. You promised you wouldn't leave me alone, you promised you would stay by my side — you can't die, Merlin, you can't! _Please_ ," she begged between sobs and hiccups, and again repeated the spell.  
  
It still didn't work.  
  
The witch didn't know what to do anymore. Merlin was unconscious, now — he had been for quite some time — lying half on Kilgharrah's back and half on Morgana's lap. He was pale as a sheet, his blood covered the witch's hands, and his breaths sounded softer than normal.  
  
She let her head fall on his chest, burying her face in his shirt, and sobbed. It was over — she had failed him. "You _promised_ ," she whimpered again. "You can't _leave me_ ," her voice broke.  
  
Something nuzzled her side and startled her so badly that she almost fell off the dragon's back. It was Aithusa, looking at her with those wide blue eyes of hers. Those orbs shifted to Merlin, then, and Morgana didn't wang to hope that the little creature would manage to heal the warlock, lest she be disappointed again.  
  
Biting her lip, she watched as Aithusa breathed a golden mist over Merlin, whose body began to glow slightly. Morgana had to close her eyes at the sight.  
  
When she opened them again, it was to find Merlin healed, his paleness receding and giving place to a healthy rosiness. She waited with baited breath and then, after what seemed like a century, Merlin opened his eyes.  
  
The witch shrieked in joy and threw herself over him, relieved to the point of tears. "Thanks to Triple Goddess!" she exclaimed, and hugged him.  
  
After a moment, she realised how weird it was for her to be hugging him and receded. "Uhm, sorry, I don't know what came over me..." she stammered out, uncertain of what Merlin's reaction would be.  
  
He shifted to get a better grip on Kilgharrah's scales — the dragon had been blessedly quiet and hadn't commented on Morgana's action, which made everything slightly less awkward — and grinned at the woman. "Don't worry about it. I have a tendency to easily charm girls," he joked to lighten atmosphere.  
  
She swatted at his arm. "Stupid," she muttered, and then added, "You had me worried for a moment there."  
  
His features softened. "I'm sorry," he said. "But you should have known that you wouldn't get rid of me that easily."  
  
Morgana laughed. "Indeed! You've been a thorn in my side for so long, and here I was hoping you would finally cease to annoy me with your presence — how remiss of me," she teased, and they both laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the statement. Had she said it a year ago, it would have been true, while now it could only be an innocent joke.  
  
They stayed in companionable silence during the flight, and enjoyed the sensation of being on top of the world, as well as the feeling of fresh air on their skin. They were finally _free_.  
  
It was the beginning of a new life. It would be difficult, and it would of course be painful, but they would eventually find a way out of the darkest period of their existences.  
  
And they would do it together, Morgana was sure. Maybe it was thanks to her Seer powers, but somehow she knew that in this new life of hers, Merlin would be by her side every step of the way.  
  


* * *

#  FIN.  
  
---  
  
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spells:**
> 
> "Unspanne me" — imperative form, it means "Unfasten me".
> 
> "Unspanne þás mægþ!" — imperative form, it means "Unfasten this maiden", taken from 2x09, when Merlin took the manacles off Freya's wrists.
> 
> "Gehæftan" — meaning "Restrain", from 1x11, used by Anhora.
> 
> "Ic ðe ðurhhæle ðinu licsar mid ðam sundorcræft ðære ealdan æ. Drycræft ðurhhæle ðina wunda ond ðe geedstaðolie!" — meaning "I heal you thoroughly from your wound with that special power that is ancient. Oh! Magic heals thoroughly your wounds and strengthens you!", from 4x06, used by Morgana to heal Merlin's chest wound.
> 
> Merlin's appeal to Kilgharrah is in Homeric Greek.
> 
> "Ω δρακον, έάω μαλερός σοφόνους φθέγγομαι τείδε άναδικέω!" (read: "O drakon, eao maleros sofonous ftengomai teide anadikeo!") — it means "O dragon, permit the appeal for an audience to speak here, fierce, wise-minded one! Come to earth!"


End file.
